Page 46 of Every Rogue Has His Charm

“I feel fine,” he rasped, speaking as much to Caro as to the housekeeper.

“Well, you’ve had a right dedicated nursemaid,” Mrs. Horn replied with a saucy glance between the two of them. A frown of surprise notched the space between his brows when he realized that Caro had stayed by his side all night. “An’ I hope now, we can enjoy a spell of good health in this house. Speaking of, that manservant of Mrs. Drummond’s called yesterday afternoon with a message for you, Your Grace.” She turned toward Caro. “But I didn’t like to disturb you.”

“Yes, what it is?”

“He said Mrs. Drummond was nearly done in by the shock of what happened to His Grace and had to be hurried home. Once she’d recovered, she wished to send her apologies and ask what assistance she could offer.”

“The poor dear,” Caro said, though not before she saw Maxim roll his eyes. “I’ll go and send her a note of reassurance.” She snatched a piece of toast from the tray, the contents of which her husband was already in the process of devouring. “When you are ready,” she said to him, “come down.”

Around a mouthful of eggs, he promised, “I won’t be long.”

She had just handed the message for Mrs. Drummond to Geoffrey when she heard Maxim’s footsteps on the stairs. Having seen the damage to his leg, she marveled all the more at his ability to move with such apparent ease, the effort it must have required to walk at all.

When he reached the landing, she looked up to spy him sporting a drab duster, the sort of thing a gentleman might wear in the springtime, rather than the cool days of autumn. Her surprise must have shown in her face, for he answered her with a wry shrug. “I lost a few items in yesterday’s duel with Proteus.”

“Your greatcoat, I can understand. But no gloves? No hat?”

“Leclerc informed me this morning that my second-best hat has somehow been crushed and he has misplaced all my gloves,” he explained as he joined her in the entry hall. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was afraid to let me out of the house.”

“The poor man doesn’t know yet how contrary you are, especially when it comes to leaving when you’re asked to stay,” she teased. Or tried to.

The amusement that had been twinkling in his eyes faded. “I think he feels some misplaced sense of guilt. It was he who procured me the boat, after all. But neither of us saw that it was damaged.”

Geoffrey stepped to the door as Maxim gestured toward it, and she moved to precede him. “Won’t you be cold?”

Sunlight streamed into the entry hall and with it, a soft breeze—not warm, exactly, but nothing like the day before. Maxim’s lips quirked. “I’ll manage.”

With quick fingers, she reached up to untie her veiled bonnet, then tugged off her gloves and tossed them onto a nearby table.

His piercing gaze swept over her face and hair. “Won’t the good people of Brighton be scandalized?”

Caro lifted her chin. “I’ll manage.”

The sun off the water was nearly blinding when they first stepped outside. “A duel with Proteus,” she repeated, watching as the light wind churned up playful waves, silver in some places and white in others. The breeze caressed her cheeks and teased loose a few strands of hair. “That’s a poetic thought.”

“No need to sound so surprised, ma’am,” he retorted. “I’m not entirely an uncultured brute.” As if to prove it, he extended an arm to her.

She threaded her bare hand around the crook of his elbow. Yesterday’s research had yielded only hints about his upbringing and education. “Anyway, I’m glad you won the duel.”

“Are you?” They walked along the Marine Parade in front of Royal Crescent, opposite the direction Caro ordinarily took. “I wondered if you wouldn’t prefer to be a wealthy widow.”

She waited to respond until the last of the houses were behind them. “I suppose that would be a less ambiguous status than the one I have endured these last years,” she admitted and felt him stiffen at her honest words. “Then again, I look terrible in black.”

He didn’t laugh. “You would mourn me?” His voice was little more than a whisper.

Here, at the edge of town, the roadway dwindled into a rough path, bordered on either side by waving seagrasses. She paused to look out over the water, eyes narrowed against the sun, thinking not of yesterday, but all the days before. “In some ways, I already have.”

He laid a hand over hers where it rested against his arm. “If it helps, so have I.”

Unexpected grief squeezed her heart. Had he been lost to her all along?

“Why didn’t you tell me the sort of man your grandfather was, what he did to you—to her?” Gathering her courage, she glanced up at him, only to find that he too was staring out to sea.

“To my mother, you mean?” He lifted one shoulder. “Because I swore after her death I would never speak to the man again—and I did my damnedest not to speak of him, either. I thought then that he had done the worst a man could do. I was wrong of course—but boys of twelve or thirteen often fancy they know everything.”

“I will not ask, now.…”

“No, no. You deserve to know—deserved to know six years ago, before binding yourself in marriage to…to whatever it is I have become.”